Curious
by iviscrit
Summary: Oneshot. "And he couldn't fathom why he felt this way about her." TR/MM Written for Eva. Please R&R!


A/N: This little oneshot is for Eva. Consequentially it isn't my style, but I hope you like it! Let me know if you want more of this type of writing, or if you have any requests. :)

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><p>"Hmmm," Tom murmured under his breath. "How curious."<p>

"Did you say something, Riddle?" Dorcas Meadowes asked, laying the papers flat on the table.

"Nothing," he said, glancing for the hundredth time that prefect meeting at Minerva McGonagall, imagining her face without glasses.

"All right," Dorcas said. "So, everyone, I think if we mix up patrol assignments it'll be more effective, I think everyone's getting a bit fed up with the same partner for weeks on end. I know I am..." Her voice droned in the background, muddled and indiscernable after a short while from the self-important ramblings of the other fifth year prefects, drunk on their newfound power. The sound of chairs being shoved back and students stretching and yawning alerted him to the end of the meeting, and he swung his bookbag to his shoulder, wondering what the cause of the sudden bouts of absentmindedness. It wasn't as though he hadn't made attempts to put an end to them, going so far as to endure a trip to the hospital wing, only to be told -much to his relief- that there was altogether nothing wrong with him, except perhaps some sleep deprivation. That was easily remedied, and he had made sure to get an adequate amount every night, fed up with the constant drifting off in class, at mealtimes, and even in the increasingly fewer visits to the Chamber. He had stopped those visits altogether, certain that should things get out of hand again he wouldn't have a scapegoat to blame.

"Tom," Minerva said, pulling him aside, "where are you going? We're supposed to patrol the fifth floor tonight."

"Oh," he said, wondering why she wouldn't wear her hair down in public. "Are we?"

She snorted, not bothered with answering, and hooked her arm through his, half-tugging him to the staircase. "You've been really out of it lately," she said. "What's going on?"

"I honestly have no idea," he admitted as they waited for the staircase to move to the proper floor. "I'm probably over-thinking."

"About?" she prodded, turning his face to hers with one hand, and he felt unsettled, though not unpleasantly. _Curious_, he thought again, and they continued on their way.

"Have you ever felt as though you were unable to concentrate?" he asked her later, their patrol finished and her room door locked. "Have you ever felt as though your mind kept straying to other things?"

"What sorts of things?"

"Well," he said, crossing his arms behind his head, "you, for instance. Anything like that happen to you?"

"Sure," she said, rolling onto her side to face him. "Loads of times. A lot of the time you're the subject it strays to."

Curious, he thought again. "Really?"

She rolled her eyes. "Tom, we've been through this before. It's a symptom of love, or a creepy obsession. Or at least attraction."

"Which one is it for you?"

"We've been through that before too. The first one." She looked at him after a pause. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you supposed to say it back when someone says it to you?"

He felt as though it were a trick question. He had no aversion to lying, but Minerva had somehow made herself the exception. He weighed the three reasons for bouts of absentmindedness, wondering which applied to him, if any. Certainly he found her appealing; their current state and location was ample evidence of that. He was certain a creepy obsession didn't apply; he was above such things. He knew enough of the boys on the quidditch team would give nearly anything to be in his place, and their eyes followed her doggedly, almost reverentially when she shot across the pitch. He did as well, but it was admiration in his gaze, ruling out the lust he suspected she had referred to. That left love to be either accepted or ruled out, a word he found to be the most meaningless of all of them. What exactly did it mean, to say "I love you"? More importantly, what did it entail?

"Tom."

"What did you say?" he said, cursing himself for his straying mind yet again.

"I all but said I love you, you inattentive bastard." She turned his face to hers again. "Are you listening to me?"

"Minerva," he said slowly, running his hand up her arm to her shoulder. "Do you really need me to answer that?"

She kissed him gently. "I don't know why it is you shy away from saying you love me, but it's okay. You don't need to tell me."

"You know I do," Tom said, feeling as though he should have analyzed the truth of the statement more before saying it. He felt the odd twinge of guilt when he tried to lie to Minerva.

"And that's all I need to hear," she replied, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head in the hollow of his neck. "I'm going to sleep."

"A novel concept, I'm sure."

"Oh, shut up," she whispered. "Knox," she said, and the small lamp on the end table went out. The slow and regular sound of her breathing became the only sound in the room. Tom found himself unable to sleep.

"Curious," he said aloud this time. "A curious feeling."

His mind strayed to her more than was healthy, of that he was certain. His behaviour around her was different too. He dropped his pretenses, made no effort to hide his sociopathic tendencies, and even toned them down slightly when she expressed her disapproval, dropping them altogether when she was around. He sought her approval far more than he would admit to himself, he went out of his way to oblige her -if it didn't directly contradict something he wanted. And he couldn't fathom why he felt this way about her. The initial reason for paying her more attention than usual was a combination of mutual attraction and attempt to irritate Dumbledore, who openly favored her much like Slughorn and himself. When had attraction turned to affection? He shifted his body to look at her, black hair fanned out on the pillow, arms pale against the red bedcovers, lips slightly parted in sleep. Tom wondered if his work in the dark arts would interest her. He had never wanted anyone to join the Death Eaters quite so badly in his life. He had never wanted to share any of his more fascinating -she would say 'unethical' but that could be fixed- findings with anyone either. And yet, he mused, he wanted to with her. Was that love? But if it was, what did it entail beyond murmuring his assent when asked if his feelings towards her were the same as hers towards him?

A small noise escaped Minerva as she slept, and he felt an odd sense of tenderness well up as he settled himself next to her, pulling her body against his, smiling as her fingers slipped through his hair. The idea seemed so foreign, so strange to him, as his mind slowly succumbed to sleep.

_A curious feeling_, he thought.

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><p><strong>AN: Hope you liked it! Leave me a review please. Reviews are love. ;)**


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